Ivy dreams of Spring.
At 13, Ivy, who's never known any home but this farm, likes her naps alfresco, even on cold days (as long as the sun is out). She has always made beds and prepared dozing-spots for herself, generally on the edge of the meadow, though occasionally beneath the bower of a tree.
Throughout her first decade, those resting spots would be just that — places where she would catch her breath, close her eyes, gather her energies. The instant I approached — or some other distraction or entertainment — she would be up, bounding about, tail wagging, eyes bright, ready to move.
Now she is likelier to remain unmoved by most passersby, human or otherwise. She has earned her rest, and she is applying herself to it with the same purity and, if you will, enthusiasm, that she brought to a far wider range of activity when younger.
She sleeps well and dreams, I hope, only happily of her time here.